


Strength

by cheyennesunrise, TimelessDreamer2



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Episode Tag, F/F, Friendship, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Sad and Sweet, Strength, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheyennesunrise/pseuds/cheyennesunrise, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimelessDreamer2/pseuds/TimelessDreamer2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many different types of strength.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.</em><br/>Khalil Gibran</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gentleness

**Author's Note:**

> In this The role of Finch is played by Chey and Fusco is played by TD
> 
>  
> 
> Please give us honest opinions on how we did.

Chapter 1 - Fusco

_Nothing is so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength._

Saint Francis de Sales

******

_Bang  Bang  Bang_  The steady and familiar sound of gunshots, and the repetition of reloading did nothing to soothe the anger that Fusco felt. It had only been a week since they had watched Shaw make her last stand and despite everything, there was no trace of the testy woman to be found anywhere. 

Setting his weapon down with a sigh, Fusco glanced to his left, where a rookie was fumbling to reload as quickly as possible. Even though he wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with Shaw, he owed her his everything. She had been the one to save his son. He reloaded and raised his weapon again, his mind taking him back, almost hearing the flat, sarcastic voice as clearly as if she was standing next to him.

_"What kind of cop doesn't use a vertical deadbolt?'_

_“What the Hell?? Where'd you come from?"_

_“It doesn't matter. It's where we're going that's important. Grab your gun, Lionel.”_

_“Let me guess... Mr. Congeniality’s in some kind of trouble…”_

_“You could say that. Reese and Carter now have the head of HR. They need a little help... escorting him into FBI custody. You ready?”_

_“I don't care who you are... You break in my house again... You're gonna be sorry.”_

_“I'm already sorry. I'm gonna have to listen to your whiny ass all the way to Queens"_

_'Me? You know the dog's the only one that likes you, right?"_

 

In a way.. Fusco felt bad now, even if they did move on to more teasing than pointed hurtful words. 

There was a soft sound in the corridor behind Fusco, a familiar footfall followed by the ever-so- slight scrape of a leather shoe against the concrete floor. 

“Detective?” The voice was tentative and heavy with concern. Harold Finch took a step toward Fusco and cleared his throat.

“I apologize for intruding, Detective, but I tried to reach you several times. I didn’t want to track your cell phone, but I had to. We’re very concerned,” he faltered.

Setting his gun down with more force than was actually necessary, Fusco turned just enough to shoot FInch a glare. “You mean _you_ were concerned. I don’t think the other two even remember I was there.”

Finch shook his head quickly. “I assure you, Detective, we were all worried when you went off the radar. Mr. Reese and Miss Groves are having a difficult time, understandably, but they didn’t forget about you. I didn’t either, for that matter.”

He paused for a moment and gave Fusco a quick once-over. “How long have you been awake, Detective?” he asked quietly.

It was easy to get mad and stay that way at Mr. Sunshine, and Fruit and Nut Bar wasn’t much different, but Mr. Glasses, as Fusco always thought of Finch, was different. He wasn’t sure why it was difficult to stay mad at him, maybe it was is politeness, or the soft way he spoke… or maybe it was simply the fact that he always made it a point to thank Fusco when he helped out. Letting out a sigh, Fusco offered a shrug. “Eh, Couple a days. Nothin’ I haven’t done before.”

Finch gave an understanding nod and looked Fusco directly in the eyes. “Detective, if you need a place to rest, or even someone to talk to, please know that I will be willing to help.”

He winced at his stilted word choice and carefully studied Fusco’s face for any sign of acknowledgement. 

“Help? Appreciate it, but I got this.” He bit back the sharp hurtful words on the end of his tongue. ‘ _Why didn’t you help before_?’ It wasn’t Finch’s fault, not really. Despite the urge to lash out, he certainly wasn’t going to do it here, in the precinct shooting range. “I’m fine."

Finch set his mouth in a firm line. “You don’t have to say that, Detective. We lost a valued teammate,” he paused, “and a friend.” 

“I’m not going to force you to do anything, Detective, but please consider my offer. I’m going to go for a walk later if you’d like to join me.” Finch lowered his eyes and absentmindedly smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from his finely tailored suit. 

After a long silence, he turned to leave. 

“Yeah… sure.” He had already snapped at three other detectives and it wasn’t like he was actually getting any work done. Maybe a walk would be good. if it wasn’t he could always come back and shoot some more. It took very little time to holster his weapon and pack up his ear protection, before he silently, and sullenly followed Finch. 

The older man turned to look at Fusco. “I know, Detective,” he said softly. “I know. It doesn’t seem fair. First Detective Carter and now Miss Shaw.” 

Finch wrung his hands and studied the blur of the concrete floor under his shoes. Fusco had his hand shoved deep into his pockets, face still set in a frown. “It appears that we are at war with an enemy that continues to defy us at every turn, and yet-.” He blinked away a few tears.

“We never could have expected this." 

Finch glanced up at Fusco again, but the Detective’s head was turned away from him. “We’ll need time to regroup, but we can’t stay underground forever. We need to keep moving,” Finch said ominously, and his glare was full of steel. 

“Detective, we’ll need you to help us fight those battles. Mr. Reese and I will do our best, but you are a vital member of our operation. Loss is inevitable, but we will be strongest together,” Finch added firmly. 

“Is that so?” The tone was darker, harsher, a far cry from his usual joking one. “What about when you die and that partner of yours goes all nuts again? What happens when that crazy lady shoots up another building? What about when I die? Who’s going to look after my kid, huh? Sure ain’t gonna be his ma, she’s as almost as nuts as Fruitcake. So, what then? What the hell are we supposed to do then?” 

He was angry, but it made him angrier that Finch still seemed so calm, kept his gentle tone. Didn’t it bother him at all? “Will you even care if that happens?” 

Finch was taken aback.

“Detective, I-,” he blinked rapidly, unsure of how to respond.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted to endanger anyone, and I apologize for my callousness. If I could change anything, _any_ of it, I would.” He stopped in the middle of the hallway and met Fusco’s gaze.

“Detective, this might be one of the most difficult moments of my life, but I do not intend to give up now. Our team has suffered an immeasurable loss, but we will not be divided. I owe that much to Miss Shaw, and I will try my hardest to ensure our survival.”

Finch blinked again, unsure if he was telling the truth or simply convincing himself that any of it was possible.

Letting out a loud breath, anger draining,  Fusco shook his head. “Yeah… I know. I just… keep wondering who’s next ya know? I think it might be my new partner… but, I’m kind of worried it will be you instead.”

Finch nodded. “I appreciate the concern, Detective. I will do my best to keep safe. You should also heed your own advice."

He gave a small smile and patted Fusco’s shoulder quickly. Finch wasn’t much for physical contact, but he gripped the Detective’s arm for a lingering moment. “Please get some rest, Lionel. We’ll need it,” he admonished quietly.

Surprised, because he was almost certain Finch had never touched him before, at least not willingly, Fusco nodded. “Hey, answer me one thing. We will find her,right? I mean, she’s a pain, and knowing her and Mr. Trigger Happy were out there together didn’t exactly make me feel safe… but.. We’ll still do it proper, right?”

Finch exhaled slowly. “I believe that Miss Groves and Mr. Reese are doing what needs to be done. Detective, if you don’t mind, there are a few matters that I have to attend to. Please contact me if you need anything,” he said quickly, and with a tap to his ear, he activated his comm. 


	2. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Your eyes show the strength of your soul."_  
>  — Paulo Coelho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this Chapter, TD was Finch and Chey was Reese.

_"It is not the strength of the body that counts, but the strength of the spirit."_

_—_ J.R.R. Tolkien

******  


The silence in the abandoned subway that served as their new base was tense. The rattle of the first aid kit settling on one of the tables seemed overly loud, almost painful after so long without a sound. Raising his hand and rubbing at the bridge of his nose, where his glasses usually at, Harold Finch sighed just once, before looking over at his partner, John Reese, who was doing a very good job of ignoring both him and Bear, who was sitting on the younger man’s legs. It was honestly the only way Harold could make sure John stayed put.

He didn’t like resorting to such tactics, hated it in fact, but John was just as determined to go out immediately with Miss Groves to look for Shaw, without letting anyone look over the injury to his shoulder or the possible one on his back. Harold was not going to allow that.

John drew in a sharp breath. “I told you that I’m fine, Harold,” he said through gritted teeth. He suppressed another hiss of pain and tugged the needle firmly. The suture was crude, but it would have to do for now.

“John…” Despite the soft tone, there was a hint of determination and disapproval radiating. “It would not take that much extra time if you would just allow me to help…” He trailed off a bit, when it was plain that John wasn’t listening.

Letting out a soft sigh, Harold took a slightly different approach. “How long have we been together, John?” He could remember it easily, the harried escape from the rooftop, hands that simply could not be made to let go. A long night, cutting wires, checking bruises and cuts. The feeling of panic that lasted for days.

John lifted his eyes to meet Harold’s gaze.The older man’s expression was unreadable, but John studied him carefully. “A long time, Harold,” he said quietly. His voice was thick with pain as he ran his hands over the newly-closed wound. After a prolonged silence, John leaned forward in his seat and exhaled slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“I remember it, so clearly. I know that it is why you looked so hard for me.. I know it is why you came to that storage shed… I know it is why you always manage to make it to me on time... “ His tone was low, soft almost, but slowly, carefully, he raised his head to meet John’s eyes. There was something in his eyes, something that could not be touched by anyone other than the man before him. “You told me once, that you would do anything for me. I have never asked you to save me. Instead, I ask you this. Will you please save yourself for me? Let me take care of you… Please, John. Do this for me.”

There was a pause, and Harold dropped his eyes, but his tone remained firm, belaying the soft words. “I will not stop you from doing what you must to find Miss Shaw. I will help in any way… but I cannot do that at the risk of losing you. Please… do not ask me to.”

John’s gaze softened, and he blinked rapidly. “Harold,” he said gently, “I will do this. Root and I will do this. I’ll keep the comm open the entire time.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he flashed Harold a rare smile.

“You’re going to be staying here, though. I can’t  lose anyone else either,” John added quietly. He patted Bear’s head and stretched out his legs slowly, preparing to stand.

“Yet… you will not allow me to check your injuries for my own state of mind.” He closed the kit, turning in is awkward way. “I will be there. I can help more than you think. Like you… I wish to protect what is dear to me…. I... “

“I have a plan.”

John stood to his full height and walked over to Harold with some effort. “What are you planning, Harold?” he asked. There was a distinct edge to his voice, and he eyed the the older man warily. “Root and I will bring her back,” John added firmly. His face remained expressionless, but his eyes were bright with panic.

John waited for Harold to respond, but it wasn’t quick enough for John’s liking. He put a hand on Harold’s shoulder. “Please, Finch, just promise me it isn’t anything crazy,” he said quietly.

“Hmm…” Harold watched John out of his peripheral, taking great care to keep his voice steady. “I’m sure it is nothing you would be interested in… However, I am willing to compromise.” Harold turned again, tapping the first aid kit with one hand. “I will tell you what I have planned… if you will allow me to look over your injuries.”

John’s shoulder slumped forward in defeat. Despite all of his training, he had been entirely incapable of concealing the stumble in his step and the gravel in his voice from Harold. With a long stare and a quiet nod, John slowly made his way back to the chair. He sank into it slowly and undid the first few buttons on his shirt.

“It really isn’t that bad, Finch,” he protested. “We need to get on the road soon.” John winced as he loosened his jacket and quickly shrugged it off. The pain was raw and electric, and he prayed that his stitches hadn’t ripped.

“And we will be able to move much faster and quieter if you are not _bleeding_ all over the place.” Harold’s tone shifted to sorrowful for a moment, before keeping his hands busy collecting what he needed, before tisking over the stitches. He kept his touch light, far more confident now it patching up injuries than he was when they first started working together.

Quietly, Harold explained his little plan to trace Shaw. Despite hating every time John was injured, he did feel slightly better knowing that they were taken care of. Making a mental note to take some classes, he paused, meeting John’s eyes. “Of course, I will have to enlist Detective Fusco’s help and convince Miss Groves…” How he was going to do that was still up in the air. “Can I count on you, John?”

John paused for a moment. He felt the pain and sadness in Harold’s gaze, and he longed to take this mantle from him, to promise that everything would be OK and they’d all make it out alive.

He opened his mouth to speak, but finding the words to be insufficient, he crossed the distance between himself and Harold in an instant, claiming the other man’s lips in a desperate kiss, and his hand cradled Harold’s head reverently.

John couldn’t promise him anything, but _this_ was his response to all of Harold’s unanswered questions. He pulled back and leaned his forehead against Harold’s, breathing heavily as he swore to himself that he would come back for him, for _them_.


	3. Perseverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You couldn't have strength without weakness, you couldn't have light without dark, you couldn't have love without loss"_  
>  — Jodi Picoult (The Tenth Circle)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time TD was Root and Chey was Finch.

_"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."_ — Lao Tzu

******

Harold Finch hunched over the keyboard in the refurbished subway car, trying his best to ignore the plaintive whines from Bear and the dull hum of the machinery.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, addressing the empty room. “I’m sorry, Bear.” He placed a gentle hand on the Malinois’ head and scratched behind his ears, just like she used to. “Shaw.”

Bear stirred at the mention of her name, and Harold wondered if he missed her as much as they did.

 

_“Harold, Bear's gone all Belgian supermodel on me and won't eat.”_

_“He’s the only reason I’m sticking around.”_

 

Harold wanted to smile, but he couldn’t shake the gnawing, niggling voice, the eternal question: would they ever see her again? He shook his head and entered a few more coordinates into the program.

“Hello, Harold.” There was no teasing, no purposeful shorting of his name, no joke. Dressed head to toe in black, oddly reminiscent of Shaw, and boots, with no heels, Root’s expression was somber, serious in a way that showed through so rarely. “John said you wanted to see me.” The words were stated softly.

Harold turned around slowly and survey Root in silence. “Miss Groves,” he began quietly. “Root.”

“Don’t. Don’t try and make me feel better. Just tell me what is so important that John won’t leave until I hear it, so we can go find Sameen.”

Harold lowered his eyes and exhaled softly before looking up at Root again. “I will not make any promises, Miss Groves. However, I must assure you that we are monitoring all available channels and cameras for signs of Miss Shaw. We will also strike the head of the Hydra,” he said ominously.

“Control.”

Harold locked eyes with Root, infusing his gaze with all the empathy he could muster, but there was something else there, a forcefulness that he hadn’t shown for a very long time.

Root nodded absently, only partially paying attention. All she seemed to be able to think about was Sameen, on the ground, Martine’s gun pointed at her head. She shook her head, frown growing on her face, trying to dispel the image with a different memory. One that held a hint of a chance… A sliver of hope… One she intended to make a reality once they found Sameen.

 

_“We’re so good at this together… You’re gonna realize that, someday….”_

_“Root.. No offense, you’re hot, you’re good with a gun...Those are two qualities, I greatly admire. But, you and me together would be like a four alarm fire in an oil refinery.”_

_“Sounds cozy…”_

 

Root had every intention of learning first hand how cozy that would really be. Abruptly, she blinked. Harold’s last words finally sinking in. “Control? She has almost around the clock bodyguards, plus, she doesn’t seem the type to get warm and fuzzy over us missing Sameen. What good is she going to be?” All Root wanted to do was hunt down Martine and have John hold her while Root demonstrated everything she had ever learned about extracting information via torture.

“Miss Groves, I know that you cared very deeply for Miss Shaw,” Harold began slowly. “However, I ask that you please err on the side of caution. Control may be able to help us.” He paused for a moment and scanned the monitors once more. “If she is of no use to us, then you may do as you wish, Miss Groves. We will find her,” Harold added quietly.

“Oh, come off it, Harold.” Root snapped, eyes bright with anger. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you will just let me do whatever I want? Or that just _interrogating_ Control is all that you have planned? I’m upset, _Harold_ , and angry, neither of those makes me stupid.” She made an aborted motion, then crossed her arms, glaring. “If you really want me to heel, like John does, then you better give me a very good reason.”

Harold stepped closer to Root. “Miss Groves, I understand that you are in a great deal of pain right now, and I ask you to channel that pain. _Use_ it, let it _fuel_ you, but do not lose yourself. We are at war, but we will not win that war if we are blinded by revenge. Please, for Sameen’s sake, do not lose sight of our goal.”

His voice softened to a whisper.  “Hold onto her, Root. Don’t forget.”

“I see… Is that what you are doing? Do you think she’s even alive?” The last question was a hushed, whisper, one hand fluttering out, almost absently landing on Bear’s head. The motion turning into a soft stroke of the faithful dog’s ear. “Or is this… just a lost cause?”

Harold’s shoulders slumped forward, but he quickly lifted his gaze and shook his head resolutely.

“Never. I would never entertain the idea, Miss Groves. The Machine is monitoring every camera, every subway, every storage truck. It’s also listening to every call, every muttered word in the city of Manhattan, except for the lines directly under Samaritan’s purview,” Harold paused, “and believe me, Miss Groves, we will access them if necessary.”

“Just like you and John, I am prepared for every possible obstacle, and I have several specially-tailored weapons at my disposal,” Harold added mysteriously.

For a minute, Root stared at Harold. He didn’t seem like the nervous, broken man she had known before, nor was he the brilliant creator of her God. He was, the man he had pretended to be only a few weeks ago. Cold, dangerous, a man who could shatter everything the world knew without hesitation. Oddly enough, that brought a hint of comfort.

“Alright, Harold… I’ll follow you, for now… but, I will hold you to your promise earlier. If this doesn’t work, I’m borrowing John and doing this my way.” Root nodded just once for emphasis.

After a long pause, he added, “ I’ve also spoke with John, and I thought that given this _special occasion_ … Perhaps, we should use that item you and I acquired not that long ago.”

Root blinked, then a slow smile spread across her face. “You know, Harry… I think I may have to agree.” 


End file.
